Recap and Recreation
by Terrence Orson
Summary: You wanna know a secret? About me? Well, here it is. It's how I'm related to the user Marches45. Remember him? Yeah, he left back in January and asked me to take over the account. Here's the story of how it all happened. Be warned, though. It might shock
1. Recap

Recap And Recreation

By

Terrence Orson

Chapter One: Recap

I

Sitting in the black bean bag chair in my bedroom, I leaned back and read one of the early cantos of the book my Honors Lit. teacher had assigned me to read, Dante's _Inferno_. I could understand most of the translation since I had read some plays by Shakespeare in the past, such as _Romeo and Juliet_, _Othello_, and _Hamlet_. Since _The Inferno_ had end notes connected to allusions I didn't completely comprehend, I kept my middle finger turned to the back for easier page turning.

I started feeling a little chilly, understandable since it was January, so I got up and grabbed my robe, which was sitting on my bed. I could have turned on the heat, but I didn't want to needlessly expend the energy. My robe was closer than the thermostat. Pshh! I'm kidding. I'd rather use the least costly method of warming myself up. I went back to the book and continued along until I was finished with the canto.

Along with my book, I held my phone in my hand, using it to take notes on what I read. Most of my classmates and I could agree that Henry W. Longfellow's translation could be challenging to follow given the language style it had, so these notes, which I had been suggested to do, helped me to better understand it. They'd likely prove to be quite useful to study if my teacher ever gave me and the class an oral quiz on our reading comprehension—the "Fantastic Five."_  
_

As soon as I finished, I put the book back in my book bag and got out of the room. I got the necessary stuff done, so now, it was time for more personal matters.

II

I got on the computer, opened up Safari, and typed in the URL address. In a few seconds spent waiting for it to load, I was on the website—FanFiction . Net, where people created stories based on what they wanted to happen to the characters in their favorite movies, TV shows, books, and such. Clicking on Cartoon with the trackpad, three long columns greeted me, a list of all cartoons that had stories made about them. I noticed that they weren't in alphabetical order, something I had gotten used to since having first stumbled upon the site before I was even a teenager.

I sighed, thinking, _Oh, great. The archives are listed out of order; now, I have to do some unnecessary clicking. Crap._ I scrolled through the seemingly disorganized list and noticed that the number next to each cartoon, the number of fan made stories for each, went in descending numerical order. I couldn't help but wonder why the site admins put everything in order of popularity when the previous method might be easier to search through. Fortunately, I knew how many stories the archive I was looking for was said to have.

I scrolled back up to the top of the page and looked for the 900s. There it was. _The Amazing__ World o__f Gumball_. I clicked on the link and came to the 25 most recently updated stories. I went to the bottom of the first page of the list, taking note of the authors and stories, and then went back to the top. Opening a new tab, I logged into my account and stared at the orange username, holding my closed hands in front of my mouth. Marches45.

In my mind, that was probably the oddest username anyone could come up with, and the only name that would be any more so would result from taking the "45" off of it. Then, my name would be a musical genre. Weird. I went back to the other tab, and the recent developments in this archive's history came to the forefront of my mind.

III

At a time when I was trying to better myself at writing, shortly after the new school year had begun, the time when my mind became chaotic with all the stuff crammed into it, like my grades, homework, marching band, and such, all the users in the _Gumball_ archive got a shocking surprise. On September 2, a new story that would soon rise in popularity/infamy due to its controversial nature had been published: _The Amazing World of Gumball: Fan Fiction Reviews_ (the title has since changed, just so you know). Obviously, my and many others' initial reactions weren't positive, considering that the author, Henry Peters, or FFCriticReviewer, had made a surprise entrance with insults to say in his first review; then, after a few days passed, this "project/"anthology had blended into normalcy somewhat.

The attitudes expressed on the archive split many users apart. Some lent their support for Henry and his team of writers and critics—EvelioandZgroup, Jamie Skyland, Bryce Avila, Penelope Peterson, and Cooper McCarthy (the latter two would gain recognition in October), others were seemingly neutral, while the rest were in staunch opposition, believing that critics weren't needed on the archive. One such author was the one whom Henry had reviewed first, Agent BM. This feud became a FanFiction Cold War/Critic War that lasted for nearly the rest of 2013, heightening the scales when an anonymous review cursed me and some others out following Henry's claim of departure, but it finally seemed to meet its end when a pivotal seven-chapter story within the reviews set the stage for a new era—another return to normalcy, but not quite.

IV

I went into the Document Manager and took a look at the stories I had gotten the ideas to make. I seriously didn't like what was going on. I started these projects with the hope of proving to everyone, and to myself once again, more that I could do it, that I could repeatedly be successful with writing stories and be one of the best writers of the Gumball FanFiction Archive. With these stories in their present state, I felt like I was actually lacking. I had the potential, but it was difficult for me to reach. I felt like my one good story that I had written was just a fluke and nothing more.

Maybe it was just my sense of self doubt talking, or maybe it was true.

Whenever I started a story, I would usually find some way to tear it apart to the point that it would not be able to be continued. I might run out of useable ideas, I'd find a plot hole that I would have a hard time filling, the message was unclear or nonexistent, or the plot was just incongruous. I hated it. What was so hard about writing something useful or meaningful? What? The answer eluded me. I knew I could get to a story that worked at some point, but I was getting impatient. When would it happen?

I opened a new document and went to write any ideas I would get. I concentrated, thinking about whatever original scenario I could that might happen in the universe of the show. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing, relaxing as I thought. And thought. And thought. And thought. And thought. And thought so hard, my head exploded. Wait a minute! That's it! Maybe something like that could work. Not with the exploding head, but something else dangerous. Mm. Yeah, that might do.

I jotted down the idea and clicked "Save." Five seconds later, my eyes widened, and I clenched my teeth in frustration. What the heck?! It didn't save! I typed it in again, hoping for a different result. Nope. Still no save.

_What the hell is this?_ I thought. _Since when does this happen?_ I sighed and gave it one last chance. I jotted my idea again and clicked "Save." Did it save? Yes…NOT. I sighed in exasperation.

_Looks like I'll have to do this hard way._ I stood up, grabbed the computer, and furiously yanked it up, violently disconnecting anything plugged into it. It shut itself off instantly. I took it to the front door, opened it, and chucked it out in the front yard as hard as I could. It made a terrible sound as it hit the ground, like broken parts and glass, but did I care? No. I went back inside and slammed the door. The impact it made shook the house, and the noise made me open my eyes. I blinked them and remembered where I was. I looked again at the document in front of me. Blank. The worst part was that now, I'd lost the idea.

_Damn it!_ I thought as I tried to remind myself of what I'd been thinking. No luck.

"What is wrong with my head?" I groaned and asked myself as I let it fall back at the head of the swivel chair. Most times when I had dreams, I could remember what they were about. Some of those dreams that clung to my memory were rather disturbing. I remembered from fifth grade a dream where I was spending my last day of school. Not _the_ last day of school, _mine_. Of course, I didn't remember every detail, but I got some of the important parts. For some odd reason, I had been on death row for an unknown crime. I was to die by hanging, something that frightened me. I don't think it was the quick and possibly painless method where my neck would get broken, which scared me enough; instead, it might have been the slow, painful style where I was garroted to death. I could remember the parts of my dreams that really stood out, but I guess my brain had decided that the idea I'd gotten wasn't so important.

V

Out of nowhere, I felt a small sensation of pain in my head. Grimacing slightly, my hand shot up towards where I felt the ache. I pressed a finger down on it, something I normally did when I got headaches. It was a futile gesture to alleviate it. The pain increased, and in response, I groaned uncomfortably. I tried to get my focus back to the FanFiction, but the pain was starting to become too much. It was spreading to my left eye, so I had to squint it to try blocking it out. It only persisted.

Fed up, I got up from the computer and went into the kitchen. I washed my hands because the keyboard was probably contaminated, and I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, thinking I might just be dehydrated, and poured it into a glass I'd gotten from the cupboard. I wasn't going to take a Tylenol or Ibuprofen pill because of the harm they could do to my liver at a later point in my life; instead, I drank the water, hesitating before swallowing some because of the temperature, along with my not really caring for its lack of taste.

I put the water in the sink and lied down on the couch in the living room. I pressed my head into the pillow because my headache had only seemed to worsen, and the pillow was soft. In no set interval, a massive amount of pain would sometimes take over and then recede. I cried out in shorts burst whenever it struck, and I writhed in agony as each spurt felt worst than the last. Suddenly, my stomach started to gurgle. I slowly stood up, clutching my head and pressing the sore spot with my finger, and went to the bathroom. Maybe that could relieve it. Did it? Oh, quite the opposite.

Somehow, no matter what I did to get rid of my headache, it only got worse. By now, as I walked to my bed to lie down, the pain had spread to my whole face. I fell on the carpet, writhing in agony and screaming for help even though I was the only one in the house. Pretty soon, my entire body was tingling. What kind of a headache was this? I'll tell you what kind: it wasn't. All I could think about was my suffering and how much longer I'd have to endure.

Suddenly, my head felt pain the likes of which it had never felt before. It was as if someone was stabbing me in the skull and through my brain. My screams became more and more violent as I was powerless to stop it until finally, I blacked out.


	2. Recreation

**WARNING! The first paragraph of this might sound dirty.**

Chapter Two: Recreation

I

Every so slowly, I crawled out of my enclosure. How I managed not to damage an essential part of it eludes me. With every inch I moved as I got out, I grew. I'd have to since before, I was tiny. It finally stopped when I was completely out. I halted a little bit to catch my breath, holding myself up on my elbows as I looked around the room. After a moment, I stood up and looked down at where I had just come out. The massive gash was closed, and there was no sign of it ever having been there. Weird how my tracks could cover themselves like that. And so quickly, too.

I shifted my gaze to stare at the rest of his unconscious body. He was sprawled on the ground, as if he was in pain. I walked next to him, knelt down over him and shook him. I had to get more vigorous because he wouldn't come to at first.

"Ugh, what the…," he groaned. I stopped. He blinked his eyes a few times before looking at me.

"Holy…" he shouted wide eyed before backing himself away from me. "Who are you?!"

"I'm…Terrence. Orson," I answered calmly, holding my hands up in front of me between us to signal that he didn't have to freak out.

"Where'd you come from, Terrence?" he asked, still on edge. After all, he had no recollection of me, and I had gotten in his house without his knowing. As far as he was concerned, I was a stranger.

"Right there." I reached out my hand to point at his head, but he put up his hand to defend himself. I couldn't blame him. He had to be sure I wasn't lying and just trying to hurt him. I paused until he slowly brought his hand down; then, I tapped his head. He put a hand to it and made an expression as if he'd come to accept this as fact.

"Hm. Well, at least my headache's gone." He stood up. "Finally."

"Yep. Sorry about that, by the way." I rubbed the back of my head sheepishly as I did the same.

"It's ok. I guess that's also why we're wearing the same clothes, too." Indeed we were. Along with that, my clothes showed no signs of having been in his head's blood and such fluids.

"Yep. Probably."

II

I turned to leave the room and go to the computer. He followed me closely. I sat down in the swivel chair and perused all 30-somthing pages of the list of stories on the _Gumball_ archive, holding my hand to my chin in thought. The stories here were very diverse in quality, nationalities of the authors, and other aspects. As I got closer to the more recent stories, I observed some of that diversity decrease.

"Wow," I finally said after about two hours. He had moved to standing behind me to my left from the reclining chair by the window. I looked up at him and told him, "This archive is…interesting."

"I know," he said. "Have you seen my stories?" He seemed rather curious to know. Maybe a little too eager.

"Yep. I think you've made quite a bit of improvement since you came in March last year," I commented.

"Thanks."

"Of course, you still need more of it. You know that, right?" I gave him a look that said, _If you don't know this already, then I'm kinda sorry for you.__ It pretty much goes without saying._ "Especially after making that story _Payback_. Honestly, that one was a disappointment if you ask me."

"Oh, yeah," he nodded quickly and without hesitation in agreement. It was good to see that he was aware that no matter what his ability, it could always be built upon further, and he wanted that for himself, unlike Agent BM, one of the authors I'd seen who I believed was wasting his time if he lacked any desire to improve. He had some good sense, and I admired him some for it.

After a brief hesitation, he followed up with, "Hey, how can you tell what improvement is?"

"You can, right?" He didn't know where I was going with this.

"Yes, but you're not me."

"True, but where did I come from? Your brain, so maybe I absorbed all the knowledge you have, so I can say what's good and bad."

He started to ponder what I said, trying to make sense of it. It sounded odd, but it was still true. He finally said, "Hmm. Well, I guess that could be it."

"Mm-hmm." I went onto his profile page and stared at it for a few seconds. My eyes scanned the page and would occasionally point toward him as I wondered how he felt being a FanFiction author. Was he happy? Stressed? Maybe angry? I could only answer these for myself. Like happy and possibly stressed, but angry? Meh.

III

"Uh, Terrence?" he said, getting me to turn the chair around to face him.

"Yes?" I asked. He breathed, gathering his thoughts before making his question. I felt like I could hear his heart beat.

"Do you, maybe, wanna…run this account from now on?" he asked, saying it in a slow and choppy manner. I kept my gaze fixed on him, not changing my facial expression.

"Why do you want to leave?" I asked him.

"Well…I feel like I'm…out of it. I feel like I've used up my creative juices, and they weren't very full to begin with, but I still want this to be here. I don't want it to seem abandoned."

"Hang on. If your creative fuel is out, what makes you think I've got any more? Hmm?"

He went silent, at a loss for words. Of course. He wasn't the most persuasive person. I could feel him breathing uneasily in anticipation and fear as I thought it over for a little bit. He had a poker face, but I could tell he was on the edge of his seat. I finally agreed so I wouldn't have to hear his excuse for a reason. "Alright, I'll take over from here." He let out his breath in relief.

"Thank you, Terrence," he said. I simply nodded in return. I went to change the pen name from Marches45 (I believe it's one of the weirdest usernames one could…nah. There are probably weirder.) to my name. Thus began my time on the archive anew. I still didn't think I could amount to much with creativity if he hadn't, but who knows? Maybe I could reach a breakthrough like he had. Like I had before.

THE END

**I absolutely find this "story" bad. After reading, I'm sure some of you readers will agree. Anyway, you get the picture: Marches45 and I are one and the same. Now that it's over, we can get away from it and get on with our lives.**

**I could have made another account, yes, but it would make this one seem abandoned, along with my having to make another email address, and therefore, another password to need to remember.**


End file.
